


Silent, Invisibly

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, First Time, Humor, M/M, Rough Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel doesn't know when Sam's joking which leads to a prank, which leads to some rather uncomfortable truths which then leads to a Talk and Sex. Not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent, Invisibly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miya_tenaka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=miya_tenaka).



> Beta'd by the wonderful, amazing annundriel, who rocks more than anything. This was for miya_tenaka's birthday and it is very very late.

"Shhhh-hs-hs-hs!" Gabriel thinks it's fairly obvious he's trying to shush Sam, but the unrelenting giggles snickering from between his clenched teeth just make Sam glare and remark that he sounds like a coal train.

"Sammy!" A gasp for air, "You have to be-," another giggle, "He'll hear you."

Sam just glares at him because it’s fairly obvious that the angel sitting with his brother in the front seat is completely clueless. And if Cas had no idea they're there, then Dean sure as hell doesn’t. That, and the whole point of this (Sam had hoped, anyway) was that they were being privy to _private_ , _awkward_ conversations about Dean and Cas' _relationship~_. Yeah. Right.

"I swear to God, I hate you so much right now," Sam intones flatly and he completely means it. Or almost completely, because, yeah it was _sort of_ his idea but he never thought- and alright, maybe thinking your part-time Trickster god boyfriend would _ignore_ a completely inappropriate and unlikely wish was a bit stupid but hey. He's sort of new to all this.

Gabriel dissolves into another round of giggles.

"I fucking hate your brother, Cas," Dean fumes from the front seat, once again trying the door handle before slumping back down over the steering wheel.

Sam sighs and mentally agrees. Gabriel just laughs harder.

"He'll be distracted before too long, Dean. I apologize for his behavi-"

"Whoa, dude. So not your fault. Guy's a dick, can't change those stripes," Dean shrugs off the apology and goes back to tugging on the door handle.

"Even though," Cas nods, conceding the point that, yes, Gabriel's a dick. "You shouldn't have to put up with his immaturity solely because he's involved in sexual congress with Sam."

Gabriel howls with laughter. Sam sort of wants to shoot himself.

"WHOA- _What_!? Wait- Cas. You said- He _what_?! That bastard's- what with what?" Dean's face drops from 'HOLY FUCK- _did not want to know_ ' to ' _I'll fuckin skin him alive with pruning shears after I shove his dick back down his throat_ '. "I'll kill him. I'll fuckin gank that dickless sonofa bitch's feathery, angelic ass and jam his fuckin sword up his goddamned spleen. Fuckin' _angel_!"

Cas looks over at Dean with a slightly confused and surprised look, and then a confused and disappointed one, followed closely by his tilt-y disappointed and hurt face. Gabriel's giggles subside momentarily beside him and even if Sam weren't twelve kinds of fucked on the 'what are you?' question, he'd be able to tell that something was about to happen. He could practically hear the universe holding its breath.

"Oh."

And- Wow. That was anticlimactic.

"If that fucking Trickster touches one hair on Sammy's head-,"

"He's not a Trickster, Dean. He's an archangel," Cas replies, and his voice is quiet, but Sam can hear the twisted, self depreciating note rippling through the words.

"I don't give a fuck. Fucker could be Prince of the Netherlands and he's still be a fucking angel. And a dick. _And_ untrustworthy. _And_ a jack-off. _And_ completely irresponsible. _And_ \- _and_ \- fuck it," Dean huffs with finality. "I'll kill 'im."

"Sam's smart enough to make his own decisions, Dean. Aside the fact that Gabriel won't want to 'rock the ship' with you so shortly after agreeing to help. He won't hurt Sam."

"No, Sam is _not_ smart enough to make his own decisions," Dean growls, a finger jabbing at Cas furiously. "That entire fuck up with Ruby and Lilith was all his 'own decisions' and look where that got us."

Sam shifts in his seat and Gabriel covers his knee with a hand in comfort. This isn't a direction he'd expected the conversation to take, and he's half a second from snapping them out of there and making it up to Sam with his mouth and hands when Castiel surprises him.

"Yes, but it was also my own actions, both in letting him out and keeping you from him that made his destruction of Lilith possible. It was your breaking of the first seal, and your mother's deal, as well as your father's, that started the events that led us here," Castiel shifts in his seat as he speaks, turning to face Dean fully, and Gabriel holds his breath even as he feels Sam relaxing beside him.

"Yes, Sam’s misleading of you contributed greatly to setting Lucifer free, and his betrayals of your trust, though well intended, were still betrayals. But he is your brother and, in the end, has never willingly chosen to bring someone into your lives that he knew was against you." Castiel tilts his head toward Dean, watching as he clenches his jaw and looks out the window. "Even you thought Ruby was on your side until the very end, demon blood or not."

Sam jumps beside Gabriel when Dean slams his fist on the dashboard and Gabriel strokes a thumb over his thigh soothingly. Dean frowns, swings around and practically shouts, "It's not the same, damnit!"

Cas leans forward, getting right up into Dean's space and Gabriel can't help leaning forward, watching intently at his brother's growled words. "Why? Simply because you've seen and uncovered the deception yourself? Because he's shown you once before that he's capable of cruelty? So have I Dean. One of our first encounters, Uriel and I were sent to wipe a city from the face of Earth. And I would have done it."

Castiel growls out the words coldly and with no dancing around the truth, "I was willing to kill Jesse rather than let either side get to him and I'd do it again if he hadn't hidden himself."

"That's diff-," Dean tries to protest, but Cas talks over the top of him, words coming out louder and more forceful.

"I've killed my brothers, will kill more to keep strangers safe because one man asked me to help him, and yet you don't trust your own to take happiness for himself." Castiel's practically pressing Dean through the car door, he's so close. Dean's face is turned away from Castiel now not in avoidance, but because if he faces forwards, he'd be lip-locked with Cas.

"He's not telling Gabriel anything that you haven't said yourself," Castiel whispers fiercely, then sighs. "But that's fine. After all, angel's can't be trusted." Cas shakes his head and backs away to his own side of the car, his moment of energy and emotion passed.

"Damnit, Cas!" Dean's head whips around, and he's angry. Gabriel's having second thoughts about this. After all, there's no sex to scar Sammy with. Just a lot of angsting and manpain and most of it over him and Sam. Figured the thick-headed idiots would ignore the _fun_ topics for the salt-in-the-wounds ones. Maybe he should've snapped a dildo, a box of condoms and some handcuffs in with the four of them.

"That's not what I fuckin said, and you know it!"

Castiel just stares out the windshield. Dean growls and reaches out, snags a fist into the trenchcoat, that raggedy blue tie twisted and bunched up in between his fingers. The glare that Castiel fixes on him is hot enough to melt stone and cold enough to brittle steel, but Dean doesn't pay it any attention, just jerks Cas towards him with as much force as it looks like he possesses.

Which might've been good if it weren't for the fact that Castiel lets himself be moved. Instead of pulling on an immovable object, Dean hauls Castiel forward, and the energy he puts into it means Dean's got a lapful of angel.

Gabriel's grin is back and Sam is beside him trying oh so very hard not to look like he's looking at what he's looking at.

Dean sputters and shoves at him, but Castiel lifts himself off of Dean's chest slowly, like he has all the time in the world. He's just as slow as he raises his face to Dean's and the seat next to Gabriel squeaks as Sam leans forward, breath caught as he waits.

There's nothing that starts it, Dean is still flushing and staring at Castiel's tie and no one says anything, but one moment the car is awkward and stiff on one side, and bated anticipation on the other-

And then they're kissing, Castiel's hand twisting Dean's coat so much the worn leather creaks. Half a beat later, Dean is grabbing back and flipping them over, pushing Cas down into the seat and tangling hands in his hair seconds before Sam squawks beside Gabriel and he snaps the pair of them out of the car.

The second half of the beat sees him spinning about and straddling Sam, pressing him back into the seat.

"Gab-," Sam starts, but then Gabriel starts kissing him senseless. He doesn't mean to brag, but kissing's one of the things Gabriel likes to think he's sort of perfected. Ok, yes he does mean to brag.

But, hey, when you can kiss and have your lover groaning underneath you and grinding up into you without any other touch? Yeah, that's the sort of thing anybody'd brag about.

He draws back to let Sam breathe but doesn't feel like talking so he swallows the 'Fuck. Gabriel-' with another kiss and starts stripping Sam out of his shirts. But Sam shoves him back enough to pant out 'no lube' and Gabriel rolls his eyes and snaps a pump bottle into the seat beside them.

Sam groans appreciatively and drags him back down for another kiss, hands in Gabriel's hair massaging against his scalp in that way that makes him arch and growl. Sam grins appreciatively into his mouth just as Gabriel slips off Sam's lap to settle between his spread knees on the floorboards. The kiss lasts until just before his knees hit ground and then Sam has to lean back up.

 _Too bad the kid's not that flexible_ , Gabriel thinks. _Could have some awesome sex that way_.

But he's just in range so that when he rips Sam's shirt open, he can reach nipples. Can jerk Sam forward until his hips are just on the seat, feel Sam's cock pressing hard against his stomach, bare chest a warm line through his own coat and shirt before he shrugs them off.

He'd snap them off, has done it before, but Sam finds it 'alluring' (his word, not Gabriel's) when he gets the strip show, and an 'allured' Sam does wild and crazy things.

So, he distracts himself thinking about the time he just lost for fucking Sammy by thinking about how awesome it'd be to pierce the nipples under his hands. Because they're so damn responsive-

-Sam whines and gasps under him, grinding his cock against Gabriel's stomach when he bites down on the tip of one-

-that he'd love to have a barbell or a ring to roll and twirl in his mouth. He'd love it if he could suck and pull and stretch them without worrying about, well, much of anything.

But he's not about to bring that up at this stage. Too early in the relationship for body modifications. Just yet anyway.

While he's been distracted, Gabriel's worked Sam's pants and then his boxers down and off one leg. When he leans back from Sam's sore and beautifully blushing nipples he wraps a hand under Sam's right knee. He lifts up and out with Sam's leg, exposing him, and gives that tantalizing cock one brief lick before blowing over Sam's hole.

Sam squirms and gasps and makes little hitching noises that occasionally break off into whines and has Gabriel mentioned why he loves doing this?

He blows over that pink little hole again, ever amazed that Sam lets him do this. Not only lets him fuck him, but lets him open him up this way, make him vulnerable, because right now the hunter's defenses are almost completely down.

Those wonderful sea-foam green eyes are half-lidded and unfocused with pleasure, his muscles are lax and lazy and Sam's senses are completely immersed in feeling. He doesn't even have a weapon on him. And that, right there, is what Gabriel loves about Sam.

His utter and absolute trust.

If he had done this with a god (like so many times before), there would never be that sense of surrender, of acceptance, of being… supple, for lack of a better term. In that very moment, Sam Winchester trusts Gabriel to keep him safe, not just alive and well, but _safe_. And for a hunter, that’s a rarely achieved term.

So while he opens Sam up with tongue and fingers, watches the way his unfocused eyes slip closed, head tilting back, exposing his throat, he takes it for the precious gift it is.

Soon, almost all too soon, Sam is begging for it, arching and writhing on the seat, holding his knee with one hand, the other buried in Gabriel's hair.

"Please, please, fuck, Gabriel. Ohgodohgodpleaseyesfuckyes," Sam's rambling now, and when Gabriel's pinky rubs at the edge of his asshole, Sam _keens_ and twists his hand in Gabriel's hair. He groans, Sam's hand twisting and twining and tugging at one of his main erogenous zones and goes in for more lube.

With the three fingers he has in him already, Sam's pretty well stretched, but Sam loves the feeling of being completely open. They’ve had discussions on this and what they found had lead to some pretty frantic sex the first time they'd talked.

Now, they know better than to talk about sex without the sex.

"Let me open you up, Sammy? Like that? Let me open you so damn wide, stretch you out til I can fuck you dry. I'll do it. Make you so loose you won't close up for a week." Gabriel growls the words into Sam's happy trail as he worries the skin with his teeth and pulls his hand back enough to twist and work until his pinky pops inside. Sam gasps and moans above him, hips working himself slowly further onto Gabriel's fingers and _fuck_ , that's hot.

Watching Sam undulate under him is such a fuckin turn on Gabriel has to press his palm down against his erection. He wants something more than a messy handjob in the footwell of Dean's car.

Sam's hands are clenching rhythmically in his hair now, interspersing the delicious burn with more forceful tugs. When the rough edge of Sam's thumbnail scrapes under the edge of his jaw he can't take it anymore.

Sam's open enough, _more_ than enough, and Gabriel's so turned on he's half mad with it. With a last thrust, he jerks his fingers out of Sam and rips at his jeans, shoves them down just above his knees. Muffles Sam's disappointed noise with his mouth and then lines himself up and takes Sam with one powerful thrust of his hips.

The low noise Sam makes is deliciously close to a wail.

He's in, deep in, balls nestled between the crack of Sam's ass and the bench seat, thighs trembling and legs half extended. Sam's shoved back into the seat, vinyl creaking and groaning under Sammy’s shoulders and Gabriel's entranced by him. By the long line of bared throat, nipples perked, flushed in arousal, with his pupils so wide Gabriel's hard pressed to find that hint of green, one hand still holding himself open for Gabriel.

Still holding himself open, wide open, for Gabriel to _take_.

Gabriel moans and starts up a rhythm, shallow rocks at first, back and forth, slow and lazy like a gentle day on a bay, letting his hips rise and crest like the tides of waves. Soon enough, though, the feeling of Sam clenching and fluttering around him, muscles working to try and close around him even as he presses forward and opens them back up- it drives Gabriel to go faster.

He's panting over Sam, hands clenching on his hips as he watches the little scrap of a mortal, so young compared to his years, writhe and moan. When he first was attracted to Sam, he thought he'd gone mad.

Now there's no doubt, but he'd still rather die than cure his insanity.

When Sam reaches up to fist a hand in his hair and jerk his head back hard enough to hurt, even if it's only a sting, Gabriel's hips snap forward and he comes. He shoots into Sam, feeling nearly overwhelmed when Sam uses his insane skill, clenching around him, wringing the last of his orgasm from him with his ass just as effectively as he could with his mouth or his hands in a way that feels like it should be from a spell, or something.

Or maybe Gabriel's just a big Sam-slut.

It's possible.

It would also explain why he lets Sam manhandle him, flipping them about until Gabriel's stretched out across the backseat of the Impala, one finger not stretching him as much as working more and more lube into him. His orgasm wrung almost everything out of him, but he still moans when Sam starts fucking into him.

He never thought much about it until the night Sam had asked to fuck him, but he totally has a thing for the big boys. And Sammy? Oh, Sam's _definitely_ a big boy.

Sam fucks him hard and fast and Gabriel angles his hips up, lets Sam get a better angle and is rewarded with a low, filthy groan and a deeper, faster thrust that makes him whine. All too soon Sam stiffens above him and a set of teeth sink into his shoulder to muffle Sam's shout, a habit even rooming with his dad and his brother for all but four and a half years of his life couldn't break.

Gabriel sighs contentedly when Sam fills him up and then lets them both collapse into the backseat with a 'whuff' of compressed lungs. Sam is panting above him, trembling, and Gabriel pats a thigh reassuringly, comforted when Sam settles over him, shifting until both arms are wrapped underneath Gabriel. One hand is splayed over Gabriel's lower stomach, the other in the perfect position to lazily thumb a nipple.

Gabriel's drifting pleasantly when Sam murmurs above him, "You think they'll get it now?"

Gabriel huffs. "Probably not. They're both thick as concrete."

Sam gives a little sigh that manages to convey his frustrated amusement and Gabriel feels him finally slip off into sleep.

 

~*~

The bed they land on is creaky and old, but the sheets smell clean and there's nobody in the room and his weapon's bag is on the floor and that's the amount of thinking Dean's brain is good for right now.

Cas underneath him feels _so fucking good_ and why they hell didn't they do this before?

"Dean, Dean," Cas is moaning now, little breathless pleas and half formed words. The sound of his own name has never sounded better, Dean thinks. "Dean, stop. You don't want-"

Dean growls at that, because like _fuck_ he 'doesn't want'. Like _fuck_ is he stopping. Two years of threats and plans and trust and betrayal between them and nearly a year and a half was spent denying this, this… _thing_ between them. Eighteen months of shoving this down deep and burying it and there's no way he's going to back off now that Cas' given him a clue, a hint, a fucking _neon glowing blimp_. Cas' practically painted him a fucking road map, so like _hell_ is he stopping.

Dean rolls them over, flips them and squirms until Cas' hips are settled between his own, until he knows that Cas can feel the solid, heavy heat of his cock through his jeans. Until Cas' breath stutters above him and hands reach down to clench at his hips and press him down to the mattress.

"Dean, ah- _yesss, Dean_ ," Castiel is moaning in his ear, voice so low it vibrates through Dean's chest where they're pressed together.

Dean can't help it, arches up instinctively, unbelievably turned on, rocks his hips up and tilts his head back, offering, begging, and Cas manages to figure it out, or knows the cue, and seals his lips over Dean's throat and starts to _suck_.

Dean's so hard he thinks he might explode. Cas doesn't relent, doesn't let up, lips and now tongue dancing hot and wet under his chin and over the tendons that strain as he clenches his jaw against a whine. It's unbelievable- his little, virginal Cas taking him higher with a series of hickies than some of his best jerk-off fantasies.

No one should have to put up with that kind of exquisite torture for long, and he threads fingers through Cas' hair, pulls him back. Not off, _never_ off, but far enough that he can work a hand down, undo buttons in a long line and shuck off that damn trench coat and blazer and pressed cotton shirts only to drag him back down by a blue tie fisted in his right while his left works at buttons and zippers and belts.

When he shoves Cas' boxers aside, works his hand down the front of pants that have never been thick enough to leave much to the imagination, Cas gasps in his ear and whines. God, Dean's never wanted someone like this. Not since Cassie, not even close.

There's no one quite like Cas. No one with that intense fire, not a wild fire, but a welding torch, excruciating but so controlled.

' _I pulled you out of Hell, I can put you back._ '

' _Okay, if you don't like "reckless" ... "insouciant," maybe?_ '

' _Hello, Dean._ '

' _I like past-you._ '

' _It's funnier in Enochian…_ '

“Sssss- ah- No, Dean, wai-”

Dean growls, bout fed up, thanks, and rolls them over so he' straddling Cas' waist, one hand still gripped in his hair. "Jesus Christ, Cas; can't you shut up for five friggin minutes?"

Cas stares up at him, absolutely silent. His hair is mussed, cheeks flushed and eyes dark blue in a thin ring around wide pupils. That white shirt bunches and pulls over his chest enticingly and- _fuck_ \- that tempting tie twisted around his throat, knot off to the side, just begging to be wrapped in his fist-

Dean doesn't even have time to register his own blink before he's on his stomach, pressed flat into the bed. Cas' hands are wrapped around his biceps, his body a heavy weight hovering over his back. He whimpers because holy hell, Cas' breath is brushing hot against his neck and under his jaw. Dean can feel Castiel shifting above him and he arches back, lifting his hips.

He's slammed flat to the bed at that, Cas' hips pressed firmly against his own, demanding and controlling.

Then it comes. That hesitation. Not long and not hardly noticeable but by the way Cas goes still.

"Dean." Another pause. "Is this what you want? Answer me, Dean." No hesitation, no uncertainty. Just a firm demand for information.

"Cas," Dean growls, "shut up and fuck me."

That heat above him pulls away and Dean would sob if he wanted the 'cries his way through sex' title except _he's not getting any_. He just wants to get fucking laid and is that too much to-

He gasps in shock, hips being jerked up once, twice and then his jeans come away with a hauntingly alive sounding rip while his shirt is jerked up around his shoulders. A sharp cry, Cas' hot tongue dancing over the knobs of his spine, darting between ribs. When teeth sink into his shoulder, scrapping around the blade and pulling at skin, he whimpers.

Whimpers and moans because Cas' other hand is shoving his boxer-briefs down around his thighs, fingertips scraping and rubbing over the fine hairs of his thighs, dragging against the grain and sending shivers up his spine before altering course. One finger brushes over his cock and then slides up to massage his balls with soft pads.

Dean jerks and moans, "Fuck, Cas, fuck- oh god, fuck. Just- would you-."

Teeth close gently over the top ridge of his ear, tugging gently, "I don't want to hurt you, Dean."

Dean growls, a low sound of pure pleasure and he's never felt more embarrassed, but more importantly _more turned on_ , in his life. "I- ah, shit," Cas' thumb rubs over his perineum, "won't, Cas. You won't. 'S just sex."

Dean groans when Cas' thumb movers up and dips into his hole, just a slight pressure.

"Tell me, Dean."

Dean tries to move, spread his legs further, but Cas' solid weight and the boxers around his thighs make it nearly impossible.

"What, Cas? Tell you what?" Dean moans frustrated beyond belief, because fuck, was this a book club? Less talking more fucking!

"What do I do? Just-" Cas might have kept talking, Dean's not sure. When Cas' finger slides into him, dry and straight to his prostate right off the bat, Dean's reasonably unprepared.

" _That_!" Dean orders, "Do that ag-"

Dean whimpers when Cas does it again and again and again.

"I knew this had to be pleasurable, but Dean, I'm still lacking in experience," Cas' voice has sunken lower, a rumbling purr that tingles along Dean's spine. "If you don't want this to become less pleasurable, you need to be more voca-"

Cas' angle changes when he leans over, catching Dean's prostate square in the center, rather than brushes past it and Dean howls, hips shoving back before he calms slightly and gazes back at Cas. "More," he rasps.

Cas stills, head tilting in confusion and Dean huffs, or tries with the limited air he has. "If I was doing this with anyone but you-"

"But you're not," Cas points out.

Dean sighs, "Right, ok. We need lube or something. There's some in my ba-"

Dean jerks at the cool feeling running up his insides and peers over his shoulder at the angel now wearing nothing. Did he just…?

"Did you just…?"

"My way is faster than manual application."

And how Cas says that with a straight face, Dean will never know.

"Ok, now-"

But apparently Cas gets the idea because Dean's wrists are captured and his fingers threaded through Cas' before he feels the solid pressure at his ass. He barely has time to relax before Cas is pushing inside in one long, smooth stroke and Dean spares a passing thought for the angel's zealous mojo'd lube job.

Cas groans above him, tiny whimpers as he presses forward and Dean shifts, again trying to get his legs wider before Cas' next thrust because he's not _deep_ enough.

"Cas. Cas," Dean gasps, "Boxers, off. Get them off."

With a growl, the boxers disappear and Dean is pulled up, kneeling on the bed, hands positioned to grasp knobby protrusions in the headboard. A knee shoves his thighs further apart before Cas draws back-

And fucks him deep.

Three strokes before Dean doesn’t know what he's saying. Begging and praises and curses, he's sure. But there's a matching line of nonsense in his ear, breathlessly panted in languages Dean doesn't know mixed with the Latin he does.

Then Cas grabs his hips, tilts him forward… and all he can manage are short broken whimpers. Whimpers that seem to be growing louder.

A hand gently tilts his head back and he resists the movement instinctually for a moment, training defying such a submitting posture for a heartbeat before he remembers that this is _Cas_. Cas who could kill him with or without Dean's small gesture, but who would only do it if Dean asked. If Dean begged. He's rewarded with a clever tongue licking over his jaw as soon as his head hits Cas' shoulder.

Dean's turned on as hell, surrounded, held… dare he say 'treasured'? and all the attention coalesces in one sharp thrust before exploding outward.

He's aware enough to feel Cas stiffen behind him, hear his short cry before the feeling of his ass clamping down on the angel's dick breaks his concentration.

Dean's not sure if he passed out, lost time or- Ok, no. He didn't _faint_. But when he comes to, Cas is staring down at him, a slight frown creasing between his eyebrows.

He takes a deep breath, realizes that he's still panting and shifts, reaches a hand out just when Cas draws away. They both freeze and Dean wants to beg, wants to plead but he can't allow himself that. He lets his arm fall back to the bed and struggles to sit up, struggling to hide the flinch of burning muscles even as the coiled burn of hurt unravels in his chest like a virus.

"Dean-"

"Save it." Dean wants to curse himself. Should've fucking known. Seriously. _Angels_. The entire fucking world was broken, what made him think he could keep even this one, small, falling part of it?

He does curse himself when he glances at the floor- what the hell happened to his pants?

Whatever, it was his damn motel room.

"You wanna go, fine." Dean jerks his head toward the door. "There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the ass on your way-"

He's pinned, blinking in startled shock up into furious blue eyes, gasping when one leg is wrenched up, exposing him, "Cas, what the fu-"

"Shut. Up." Castiel growls, each word clear and perfectly enunciated.

Dean bucks and then his eyes widen because-

Holy fuck, what's gotten into Cas?!

"You frustrate me. You infuriate and taunt and insult. You convince everyone around you that everything is permissible but you don't even believe your own lies." Castiel's eyes are livid and the hurt is buried so far underneath that Dean can hardly taste it at all. Cas' fingers slip into him, three at once and swirl once before thrusting in, making a point.

"This, Dean."

Cas draws away, letting Dean's leg slip down, his fingers withdrawing too and Dean won't admit it, but he misses the weight of him in that moment.

"Wha-," Dean pauses, clears the rasp and nerves from his throat. "'This' what?"

Castiel stares at him, eyes flat and Dean's furious, incensed because he didn't fucking ask for this- _he begged for it_ \- he didn't want this- _**needed** it_ \- and fuck him if the damned angel thought that there was any way he was going to own up to Cas' mistake- _best half hour of his life and why can't he ever have anything that **lasts**_ \- because he didn't start this merry-go-round.

Castiel, fucking angel of the ever-absent _Lord_ , did.

When Castiel's eye go frigid instead of flat, bright blue snapping like arctic wind, Dean realizes he's been speaking aloud. When Castiel's hand fists in Dean's hair and hauls him close like a recalcitrant dog, Dean realizes that he might need to keep a closer watch on his mouth.

"No, Dean, you _didn't_ ask for this. You _never_ ask for anything, not from the whole world and not from anyone in it, so is it really that surprising when you never get what you want?" Castiel- not Cas, not right now, not this being of fury and power- hisses, words slipping and sharp like a blade between the ribs. "You say 'I don't need anyone' and then pine when we leave, you say 'I'm fine' and then struggle and die when you don't get the care you need."

The hand in his hair twists painfully and Dean's not quite fast enough to bite off the whimper, watching as Castiel's eyes get darker as he speaks.

"You didn't want this? You forget, I was there, Dean. Every step along that path, I walked with you, so don't try and tell me you didn't want _this_ ," the last word must taste like poison, the way Castiel spits it out, but Dean gets the feeling that's not everything.

He also gets the feeling that Castiel won't tell him the rest either.

Cas might've. Not Castiel, though.

"I'm very tired of you pushing Sam and Gabriel and myself away, Dean," Castiel sighs, shoulders drooping as Cas continues with, "So very tired."

Dean swallows, has no idea what to say to that. Doesn't even know if he _can_ say anything to that, but he's got to try something because the hand Cas rubs briefly over his face covers up the bone-weary exhaustion he sees flickering there for a second.

Cas shouldn't look that run down, not now, not ever.

"Cas, I-," Dean swallows again, looking for the words- and very much doesn't squeak when a hand wraps around the back of his neck, tugging him down where Cas can wrap another arm around his waist. Cas falls backwards, pressing Dean against his chest, hands soothing through his hair and across his shoulders.

"Hush, Dean," the weary voice breaths into his neck.

And damn him, but Dean doesn't want to move, can't say anything in the face of Cas' all-too-insightful observations and stops denying, even to himself, that he wants to be anywhere but held by Cas. He feels loved and cherished, but most importantly _supported_. He doesn't feel coddled or patronized and that goes a long way to easing his ruffled feathers. Come to think of it, Cas has never babied him or implied, even loosely, that he couldn't do his job or needed to be protected.

Cas, Dean finally understands, _gets it_.

And maybe it's time to stop pretending that he doesn't _get it_ , too.


End file.
